Pitt sat down, more to save her staring up at him than for his own comfort. “If you please.”

She had obviously prepared herself, and her mind seemed very clear; there was only the slightest trembling in her hands. She kept her amazing eyes steadily upon his.

“My husband had taken his breakfast early, as he frequently does when he is working. I imagine Unity-Miss Bellwood-had also. I did not see her at the table, but that was not remarkable. The rest of us ate as usual. I do not think we discussed anything of interest.”

“The rest of us?” he questioned.

“My son, Mallory,” she explained. “My daughters, Clarice and Tryphena, and the curate who is staying with us at present.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“Mallory went into the conservatory to read and study. He finds it an agreeable place, quiet and warm, and no one interrupts him. The maids do not go in there, and the gardener has little to do at this time of year.” She was watching him carefully. She had very clear gray eyes, with dark lashes and high, delicate brows. “Clarice went upstairs. She did not say why. Tryphena came in here to play the pianoforte. I don’t know where the curate went. I was in here also, as was Lizzie, the downstairs maid. I was arranging flowers. When I had finished them I started towards the hall and was almost at the doorway when I heard Unity cry out…” She stopped, her face pinched and white.

“Did you hear what she said, Mrs. Parmenter?” he asked gravely.

She swallowed. He saw her throat jerk.

“Yes,” she whispered. “She said, ‘No, no!’ And something else, and then she screamed and there was a sort of thumping… and silence.” She stared at him, and her face reflected her horror as if she were still hearing it in her head, replaying again and again.

“And the something else?” he asked, although Cornwallis had already told him what the servants had said. He did not expect her to answer, but he had to give her the opportunity.